


take my lungs (take them and run)

by turduckenail



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood and Injury, Cultural Differences, Elf Culture & Customs, Elves but extra fae weirdness, M/M, Possessive Behavior, the tags make it sound dark but it's actually just fluff and emotional constipation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turduckenail/pseuds/turduckenail
Summary: An elf walks a human home. The elf has feelings about it.---“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just taken the better armour like I said,” you grumbled. “What were you expecting a bit of fur and leather to do compared to plate?”
Relationships: Ralof/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	take my lungs (take them and run)

**Author's Note:**

> I feel really bad about taking so long to update Blood in the Water so I dug through my WIP folder and found this disaster that I wrote 6 months ago and never edited. Enjoy.
> 
> (also I made the mistake of writing this in second person pov so you don't actually know the pov character's name till like 2/3rds through the fic whoops)
> 
> Edit: forgot to mention the title is from Body by Mother Mother. It's not especially relevant to this fic but I've had it on repeat this week and it's the only title idea I had.

It’s late afternoon by the time you get to Riverwood. Fighting your way out of Helgen had taken the better part of the day, though you’re almost surprised that it hadn’t taken longer. Everything — from escaping the executioner's axe to fighting your way into the waterways under Helgen — had only taken half an hour.

Actually getting through the waterways had taken significantly longer. You would have made better time if Ralof hadn’t taken an arrow to his thigh during a skirmish with some Imperials who’d had the same escape idea you had. It hadn’t hit anything important, thank the Eight-Or-Nine-Or-Whatever, but it had slowed him down substantially, and you hadn’t been too keen on the idea of leaving him behind. He’d insisted he was fine and stubbornly limped behind you the rest of the way, but by the time you’d found an exit he was leaning heavily against your side for balance, and by the time you came within sight of Riverwood, you were all but dragging him along.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just taken the better armour like I said,” you grumbled. “What were you expecting a bit of fur and leather to do compared to plate?”

Ralof grumbled a few creative things about your lineage under his breath but didn’t otherwise object. Concerning.

You’d frowned. “You’re not gonna tear me a new one for telling you to play dress-up with an Imperial uniform?”

Ralof grunted and stayed quiet.

“Hey,” You hitched Ralof’s arm around your shoulder. Partly to get a better grip and partly to make sure he wasn’t going to pass out on his feet. “C’mon, hold on a bit longer. We’re almost there.”

Ralof kept his silence but seemed to put a bit more energy behind his lurching steps, so you took that to mean he was probably fine.

“See? Here we are. Safe and sound.”

You’d stumbled through the south gates of Riverwood and let Ralof direct you over a bridge and behind a lumber mill. A woman with the same gold-blond hair and bright blue eyes as Ralof caught sight of the two of you and rushed over and made you set him down on a stump so he could rest. You’d gratefully collapsed beside him.

Now you’re sitting in the sunlight, propped up against each other because neither of you has the strength to sit up straight on your own anymore. The light feels thick like honey, and you take a minute to catch your breath while Ralof stumbles through a conversation with the woman - his sister, apparently.

Eventually, you catch a scent. Or, rather, you finally really notice the scent that’s been in your nose all day. You crack your eyes open and squint through the light at Ralof’s pant leg, torn up and stained a dark lurid colour down to his ankle. There’s the remains of your sloppy bandaging job and the stump of a broken arrow still sticking out of the wound. Right.

“Deep breath,” you murmur, and you’re close enough to his ear that you’re sure he hears it anyway, then you brace one hand against his leg and use the other to tug the arrow out of his leg in one pull. To his credit, he doesn’t scream, though it sounds like he might have bitten through his tongue holding it back. Your hand’s already back at the wound, spilling gold light just a shade colder than the molten sunset, knitting the muscles back together and dulling the pain.

Ralof’s fingernails have dug furrows into the wood of the stump and he’s sure to have splinters under them. “You couldn’t have done that earlier?” he hisses through his teeth.

You huff, too tired to entertain his frustration. “Shut up, ‘m not good at this. Takes a lot of concentration.”

He growls, but there’s no real heat behind it, and his muscles are already unclenching, the tension going out of his shoulders bit by bit. He goes back to his story, and you go back to ignoring everyone. It’s not like he’s saying anything you don’t already know. Or at least nothing you can’t get out of him later. You hear them say your name once or twice. No surprise there. Not every day a Stormcloak brings home a Bosmer and doesn’t immediately run him out of town when he starts waving magic around.

Ralof would never, of course. You don’t know why you think that, you only met him a few hours ago and your circumstances haven’t exactly lent themselves to getting to know him at all, but he seems like a decent guy at least. He saved your life, after all. And then you saved his. And then he offered you his home to rest and recover like an _idiot_ who hadn’t just seen you slaughter a dozen men with no hesitation or remorse. (No matter that he’d been right there beside you swinging his own axe.)

You have no idea where you stand exactly, only that you were reasonably, hesitantly sure that he wouldn’t attack you outright when you pulled out Healing. You’re glad you were right.

It’s stupid. It’s irrational and a risk you can’t afford to take, but you already feel a tiny stirring of possessiveness in your chest. You don’t get it often, you haven’t felt it in years, not since you were a kid and had found a dog wandering the countryside that you’d decided to take home. That tiny, nagging, all-consuming feeling that this one is Yours.

But it’s getting late, and you’re exhausted and can barely hold a thought in your head right now, so you let the feeling of _maybemaybemaybe_ and _mineminemine_ fade into a background hum and don’t think about it further.

Your magic finishes doing its work, leaving a starburst of shiny scar tissue where the wound was. Not your finest work, but you get the impression that Nordlings don’t mind having a couple of interesting scars. Just in time, it sounds like they’re wrapping up their conversation. The woman - Gerdur, you’re pretty sure - turns to regard you directly for the first time.

“Your name is Nerin, yes?”

“Yes,” you say, regarding her in return. Most Nordlings you’ve met startle or flinch when they meet your eyes, (something about the bloody red of them is a bit alarming for people who aren’t Mer, apparently,) but if she feels anything at all about you she hides it well.

She nods. “My name is Gerdur. Pleased to meet you.”

You incline your head, a bit more formally than is really necessary. “And you.” She smiles, just a bit, so you think you did alright.

“Thank you for saving my brother’s life. We owe you a debt of gratitude.”

You blink, caught just a bit off guard. “You owe me nothing. Ralof saved my life first.”

“Nevertheless, you’ve brought my brother home. Mostly in one piece even,” she quirks a smile, though you don’t miss the way her eyes dart to the brand new scar on Ralof’s thigh, just a little bit of wariness in her eyes. There it is, then. “If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. Any friend of Ralof’s is a friend of mine.”

You… blink. That’s not what you were expecting her to say, you know very well how your kind are treated in Skyrim, especially in backwater towns and villages like Riverwood. You hadn’t expected her to offer kindness to you, let alone friendship, and you’re not quite sure what to do with it.

There’s a moment where you’re frozen, then you heave yourself to your feet, ignoring the ache in your bones and the hot sting in the wounds that are finally making themselves known and drop to one knee into the most formal bow you can muster. “You honour this one with your kindness.” Then, because these are Men, not Mer, and they won’t understand the significance. She’s already thanked you, she’s already said she _owes you a debt_ , she said _anything you need_ and she doesn’t even realize what that _means_. But you feel that stirring of possessiveness again. This one is Yours now. It’s only polite to even the field. “You have my gratitude.”

You hear the vaguely panicked sound she makes as she scrambles to pull you back to your feet and can’t help but think it’s adorable.

“Please, there’s no need for that,” she says with wide eyes and confusion in the furrow of her brow.

 _Nords_ , you think a bit fondly. _Simple village idiots, the lot of them_. You smile at Gerdur, and she smiles back, still confused but apparently already chalking it up to the strange eccentricities of elves.

Then you all realize it’s getting dark, and Ralof is swaying in his seat. You move to help him stand and Gerdur’s husband - Hod, you think you heard her say - comes around his other side to help take his weight and together you all stumble down the road to Gerdur’s house.

You mean to stay awake, you really do. These Nords are simple idiots and don’t seem inclined to go back on their promise of friendliness, but they’re still Nords, and that makes them a threat, and you didn’t get this far by falling asleep in the presence of a threat. But then Hod gently lays Ralof down in a bed and Gerdur starts fussing over his wounds and you’re exhausted and can’t stop yourself from tipping into bed beside him. You’re asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.


End file.
